


Unbending

by Aurona



Category: Bleach
Genre: Drama, F/M, Ichigo thinking about Orihime, Ichihime - Freeform, Oneshot, POV Kurosaki Ichigo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12936111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurona/pseuds/Aurona
Summary: "Because there are times when he sits under the warm glow of her healing dome, and he watches her."





	Unbending

**Author's Note:**

> I think about Orihime's powers and her potential constantly. Don't be surprised if this turns into something more later on down the line. (Though that's under debate)

Her power is immense.

But so very different from his own.

His power is untamed, wild in nature. His overflows. It pushes, it pulls, and it invades the reiatsu of others. It is like a storm that can only grow even more fierce as time passes. It sweeps you away, burning your skin and stifling your breath. Until you become smothered under the weight of power no human should have ever come to own. Dangerous.

It is not a strong, almost overwhelming feeling of raw power the way his power is. In fact, it is the opposite. And a part of him recognizes that's because  _she_  is  _his_  opposite.

Hers is calm. It is steady and warm. Warm in the same way that sunlight is warm. It could easily be compared to sun-heated silk as it slides over your skin. It breathes into you, and you feel stronger. Until you can almost feel the fresh breeze of warm life seep into your very soul, limitless and just as giving as she is. Safe.

But sometimes, he feels that her power is the most unpredictable.

Because there are times when he sits under the warm glow of her healing dome, and he watches her. Times where he studies the soft curve of her cheek, and the delicate curve of her eyelashes whilst also fiercely ignoring the tightness in his chest. Where he finds himself brushing the feeling off as phantom pains from already healed wounds. Because it is only when she heals, when she is the most focused, that she does not notice.

He notices it. The steady rise and fall of her shoulders slowing, her breath catching as if for just a moment she has forgotten how necessary  _air_  is. The way her eyes watch the progress of her own work; as if her very  _existence_  hangs on every inch of skin stitching itself slowly back together under her command. How her gentle gaze, after several hours of consistent healing, will slowly turn as blank as stone. As if she is slowly fading with every ounce of reiatsu she pushes into her Rikka. As if she is encouraging it along the way.

The first time he noticed the true dangers, she was healing the Shinigami in the Soul Society.

At first, he thinks she was just starting to run on auto pilot. She had begun healing right alongside the fourth division the moment her feet touched the destroyed roads of the Seireitei. And he thinks that after so many hours it would be understandable for her to be just a little less focused as she continues to heal. But just as always, her technique is flawless. He thinks it must be the same as when he blocks an attack. Instinct.

Something in him, a nagging itch in the back of his mind, commands that he  _keep watching_.

And he sees it, and at first it is slow. At first, he doesn't think anything of it. He sees her hands press to the golden dome, trembling and almost uncertain in her weariness. He considers telling her to rest, that the fourth division can easily pick up where she left off. He doesn't.

Soft at first, as if her golden healing dome had become as delicate as a butterfly's wings, she caresses the smooth surface. Her fingertips glide back and forth hypnotically, each fingertip tracing an individual shape along the way. The slender digits twisting, swirling, dragging, and dancing across the very physical representation of her power. It should look more chaotic, and jumbled, but he swears for a moment she looks like she is playing some sort of instrument.

_Weaving._  His mind whispers.

He can see her hands tremble, her fingers halting their movement. She leans forward, slowly pushing her weight against her healing dome, until soon he can see her fingertips grow white with the pressure. For a moment, it looks as if she is trying to become one with her shield by physically pushing her hands through it. The thought is ridiculous, and he pushes it away as soon as it arrives before-

A flicker; a soft, pulse of energy. It washes over him, covering him in a warm wave that eases a soft exhale from his lips as his body relaxes. And just as soon that same wave starts to recede, slowly returning to Sea, and dragging him along gently through the sand. Slowly and gently urging him to follow, until he finds himself physically leaning closer and closer towards her.

For a moment, and only a moment, he swears her skin starts to shine.

He sees that blank look in her eyes expand. He can see it start to consume her. With every inch that wave of comfort pulls him in, the further lost at sea she is becoming. And the muddled haze of warmth that invaded his mind vanishes, leaving behind a cold chill of realization.

She is healing; reversing the existence of wounds. Removing, and erasing any sign they had been there, to begin with. The process is faster, as tiny particles of matter appear from thin air and buzz toward the nameless Shinigami like thousands upon thousands of microscopic moths toward a flame. And she  _isn't stopping_. She does not seem to  _know_  that she isn't stopping, or even  _care_  for that matter.

And he sees it. Notices the Soul Reaper she is healing starts to look…  _different_. His appearance, that of a man in his late thirties, is slowly shifting. There is no longer gray in his hair, and the wrinkles near his eyes are vanishing. He seems an inch taller than he was only a minute ago. Suddenly, he can see an entire three years reverse itself on this man's face, he looks younger-

His hand on her shoulder brings her back to reality.

Her shield flickers out of existence, and she blinks. Those long eyelashes fluttering once or twice before her eyes turn to gaze at him questioningly. She is baffled. And something in his chest tightens; rising to lodge itself high in his throat.

She doesn't know.


End file.
